


I think about you day and night, it's only right

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: AU, F/M, tumblr prompt fills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 10,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rookie Blue prompt fills, including domesticity meme and the AU list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Domesticity Meme Prompt: (Mcswarek) Most Trivial Thing They Fight Over.

Sam listens absently to the news as he finishes up his grilled cheese sandwich. He doesn’t often indulge himself (because, to be frank, he’s getting a bit older and that means adhering to a bit of a stricter diet, not that he doesn’t like pizza or take-out) but today he’d just, well, felt like it. 

He pops open the cupboard next to his head with an elbow and reaches in-

And doesn’t find it. 

Frowning, he glances up, simultaneously removing the frying pan from the stove. It’s not there. He growls; actually growls. He stalks to the fridge and sure enough, the ketchup is sitting in the door, innocent as ever. 

He taps out a text to her while he’s biting into his sandwich. 

_Damn it, McNally, the ketchup goes in the cupboard!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity - (Mcswarek) Who remembers anniversaries

McNally remembers the stupidest things. She remembers how he likes his coffee, what he likes in his smoothies and whether he eats tomatoes on his burger. She can remember names of perps she arrested a month ago. She can remember orders like a well-trained waitress and sometimes, just to piss him off, she’ll recite - word-for-word - sections of the Criminal Code. 

Thing is, she sucks with dates. 

It’s not that she forgets the dates. When asked outright she can rattle off every single birthday at Fifteen (McNally’s big on birthdays). She just gets caught up, is all, and completely loses track of the date. Heck, she loses track of the day of the week. 

So when she strolls into Sam’s apartment, half way through a story about Shaw and Epstein and sees that he’s got dinner ready and set out on nice china (neither of them are the whole candle, flowers, tablecloth deal) her breath catches. But Sam just smiles. 

"Come on, McNally. Before it gets cold."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> benjaminscookies asked:domestic meme: sam/andy; favorite non-sexual activity

Sometimes, they have bad days. Not the brutal ones where they both end up drunk beyond recognition at The Penny, but they’re bad enough to leave them feeling off. On those days, they climb into his truck and drive up the Escarpment. 

Andy likes it because it makes her feel so small, to look down on the city, see how far it stretches. Sam likes the quiet, the way the crickets sound on the summer evenings. If it’s warm enough, they stretch out in the back of the truck and if it’s too cold, they wrestle over radio stations until they find something they like. 

But at the end of the day, it’s the peace and quiet that settles them both, that makes them feel like they can go back down that hill and start again tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tackledmetriedtokissme asked:Sam & Andy 2 (college), 4, 10

**2\. College AU**

They meet on the mat. It’s a match of strength versus skill where he’s definitely the brute strength and she’s definitely the honed skill. Her dad’s had her in karate since she was a toddler, but she can tell by the way he throws his weight around that his kind of training is totally street-based. She is most definitely okay with that. It’s the most challenging thing she’s done since enrolling in Humber’s police foundations program.

For a couple of weeks, the mat is the only place they meet. After the first time, their coaches basically pair them off together and send them on their merry ways. They’re pretty evenly matched given their skill sets. She’s wily, is the thing, and hard to catch. He’s grunted that at her a handful of times after they’ve gone a few rounds, but he’s got weight as a factor and if he gets her right, it gives him the edge.

And then, somewhere along the way, it morphs. Instead of fighting, they start teaching. They hit the gym together after classes and she teaches him some tai chi while he teaches her dirty knife fighting. They start to pick themes for each of their bouts - no feet, no fists, no heads, hits to vital organs rather than pins - and they laugh together.

She tells him about her dad and she learns about his sister. They exchange crappy childhood stories because it turns out for all their differences, they’re also exactly the same. They work on projects together because she’s too uptight and he doesn’t always have a firm enough grasp of the rules and even when they do mock interrogations, the way they work together blows other teams out of the water.

So naturally, rumours start and she doesn’t think anything of them. They’re close, so it’s easy to see why people are talking about how they’re sleeping together, how they spend endless hours together, whether it’s true or not.

Then one day, they’re out with their friends and more than a little drunk. He corners her at the bar, pressing into her just subtly and she arches back because she can and because her inhibitions are not what they should be. When he kisses her she lets him.

That night, they turn rumour into reality.

.

**4\. Snowed In**

She’s at Sam’s house when the storm hits full on. She’s been there more often than she hasn’t (and there’s evidence in the fine film of dust over everything at her place) because he was shot for God’s sake and she cannot just leave him.

But her guilt aside, she’s actually kind of glad. The aftermath is total chaos because after the snow comes freezing rain (welcome to Toronto, where waiting fifteen minutes can result in an entire weather upheaval). The heavy wet flakes turn into miniature skating rinks and half of the trees in the neighbourhood lose massive branches under the weight of the ice that forms.

But in Sam’s place, they’re toasty and hidden away, thankfully with food and one of the extremely lucky areas that has power restored within twenty-four hours. They spend days just watching useless television because literally no one can move and the whole city is shut down.

It’s not the way she’d hoped to celebrate their first Christmas together (his bullet wound and all) but she can’t honestly complain.

.

**10\. Sharing a Bed**

She takes him home when they release him from the hospital. There are still so many things he can’t do and Marlo’s a little messed up for the moment. She barely gives a thought to Nick because Sam almost died and while she knows she has some explaining to do as well as some serious thinking (because Nick is the guy you bring home to Mom and Dad, but she just can’t seem to kick the Sam-habit) she’s going to put it off a while longer.

She sleeps on the couch because she refuses the bed (he’s teased her time and time again about how much she moves in her sleep) even though his couch is actually crap and uncomfortable. She wakes up with cricks and pinched nerves all the time and Sam tries to argue with her, to tell her she’s being ridiculous but she can bloody see the way he can barely shift and she will not add to it.

Until she has actually the worst nightmare since he’d taken that bullet. It’s a little cliche because he totally dies but that becomes a moot point because she’s in his bedroom like a shot and his eyes are fluttering open as she climbs into the empty side.

"McNally?"

"You died."

He grunts, a little sound that kind of tells her he’s still exhausted and probably couldn’t find a way to get comfortable. He gets that sometimes because he sleeps on his stomach and he can’t with his injury. She reaches out, rests a hand on his wrist and gets her fingers between that and his stomach just inches from his scar. She can feel his pulse against her fingers and her body sags in relief.

"Not dead, McNally. Not going to get rid of me that easy."

She smiles, her eyes already fluttering closed. “Good.”

.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Fic prompt: S/A talking about having a baby

_I think we should do it._

Sam stares down at his phone, blinking. It is the most random text she’s send him all day and he doesn’t know what to do. She’s babysitting, he thinks, Diaz’s kid because that happens now and again. They’re a family at 15 and that means they all pitch in where they can. But he can’t think of what the hell she might be talking about.

_Do what?_

It takes a long time for her to respond and while Sam would normally just assume she’s busy with the kid, he also knows that when she starts randomly throwing stuff out like this, she’s got something specific in mind. He tries to be patient, he does, but he knows he’s all but twitching.

_Have a kid._

What?

_Oh yeah?_

His heart’s hammering in his chest. They haven’t talked about it, adding to the two of them, even though there’s more than enough room at their place (she’d moved in six months after they fixed things, neither of them willing to waste time. They’ve been married two years now). They’ve been enjoying their time together, really, but he’s also not stupid. He thinks this has been a long time coming, the number of times she’s volunteered her days off for babysitting duty.

_Why not? Don’t want kids, Swarek?_

He snorts. Classic Andy, he thinks. She still does this from time to time, deals with serious issues through impersonal means. He thinks it’s a defence mechanism, one he wishes he could kind of nudge out of her, but it’s also just so her that he’s reluctant to change it. And, well, he’s not exactly the greatest at these conversations either.

(They never fight over text. Never. They do a lot of things with technology, e-mails, grocery lists, flirting. Some of their more serious conversations have started here too, but not fights. Never fights. They’re both adamant about that, what with the sheer amount of misunderstandings that have happened over the course of their relationship.)

_I’m in if you are._

He doesn’t hear from her again, but she’s sprawled out over the couch when he gets home, sacked out. He almost laughs because of course the kid’s tired her out. Boundless energy and boundless energy.

"McNally."

She hasn’t been McNally for a couple of years, but some habits are hard to break. Her eyes flutter open as he slides beneath her feet, resting them on his lap. He absently digs his thumb into her arch and she sucks in a breath.

"Hey."

He smiles at her. They’re quiet for a moment.

"So," he says, because he can’t hold it in any longer. "A kid, huh?"

She shrugs, but he can see the tension in every line of her body. “Why not.”

He makes a noise of discontent. “Nuh uh, McNally. Be serious.”

"You be serious," she retorts, nudging at his knee with her foot.

His mouth tilts up in a half smile. “S’a big deal. A whole person.”

"We could make a person."

She sounds nervous (because he can tell after too many years working and playing together), but she keeps her eyes on his. It’s almost defiant.

"Yeah, we could," he says. "You wanna make a kid with me, McNally?"

"Yeah," she breathes, and the smile that spreads across her face starts in her eyes first. Her whole face slowly lights up with the joy that washes over her face. It’s breathtaking, because with her family track record he can’t say he’d ever expected her to want this.

"Then let’s do it," he says, knows his voice is choked and rough. "Let’s have a kid."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Marry: mcswarek
> 
> Marry: My character will propose to yours.

It is probably the stupidest proposal in the history of proposals. They’re freaking fighting, for Pete’s sake, full on yelling match because he’d thrown himself in front of a gun again, and UC had approached them both about some work that she’s actually considering taking even though they have this unwritten rule about UCs. 

(Their relationship has fallen apart because of those. Neither of them are fond, not since the last time things got all messed up and they barely talked for, like, a year.)

So it’s mid-tirade that it actually happens. 

"Damnit, McNally, I want to marry you!"

That stops them both, Andy in dead shock and Sam because he had not planned to do it that way. He never does. They’re not romantics, really, but he’d definitely expected a much quieter proposal and once fuelled by less anger. 

"What?" 

She sounds like she does when she takes a particularly hard hit to the mat, all breathless and rough. 

He runs a hand over his head. “Jesus, Andy, I-“

"No. Repeat it."

He blinks at her for a moment, trying to gauge what she’s thinking. He can’t though because she looks part stricken part surprise and he has to steady himself. 

"I want to marry you, McNally. Not bury you."

Silence follows before he sees her throat work as she swallows. “You’re a drama queen.”

He chokes on a laugh. “Oh yeah?”

She sniffles, and the fight falls to the wayside. “Mean it?”

“‘Course I do,” Sam replies and finds himself stumbling towards her. How can she not- How is that even a question? “Andy.”

She lets him come, catches him in a twisted way as his arms come around her. She clutches him back, desperate even as her face erupts. 

"That’s the dumbest proposal ever, Swarek."

He cups her skull, pushes her face into his neck. The entire length of her is pressed up against him and he can feel her hips digging into his. “S’that a yes?” 

She laughs, but it’s more of this weird Marilyn Monroe sound. “Yeah, Dummy. Of course it’s a yes.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Wine: Sam and andy  
> Wine: For the drunken phone-call/text

"I love you."

Sam groans, pulls the phone away from his ear and checks that it really is her calling. Andy. At an ungodly hour of the morning when he’s supposed to be resting because he’s just been shot for Christ’s sake. Not that McNally has ever really followed normal human rules. 

(Cop rules, yes, though he always feels a strange sense of pride when she stretches one. His rookie. He still believes she’s going to be one hell of a cop one day. More so than she already is.)

"No, Sam, I mean it. I know I said it in the ambulance and everything, when I was trying to keep you awake but God. Sam, this is stupid."

(He thinks a lot of things are stupid. His reaction to her stint UC for example, but then her heartbroken response to Marlo and a whole lot of shit before that. He doesn’t tell her any of it.)

"It’s two in the freaking morning."

"I know," she says, and he’s pretty sure there’s more of a slur there. He’s tired though, really tired, and things still hurts when he moves funny so he thinks maybe it’s just his brain, slow and sluggish. "But you were shot, right? I almost lost you. Again. Because God, I’m just stupid, okay? Nick’s great, really great, and he puts up with a lot of my shit but God, Sam."

He doesn’t realize his eyes have closed until he tries to pry them open. Not that it makes a difference, because of course she’s not here. 

(Though he did hear about her and Collins, about a heartbroken puppy dog look and a guilty McNally. He refuses any and all claims of smugness, even though she’s been at his place almost everyday to check on him.

He knows how Collins feels from terrible personal experience.)

He wants to say something snarky, even sarcastic, something that doesn’t let on how much he wants to just tell her to come to him, to stay with him. He wants her there like he wants his next breath, but they’re both so messed up right now and he doesn’t want to drag her into something before they’re both ready. 

(But the minute they are, the minute everything’s right, he’s going all in, no holds barred. 

He can’t live without her. It sucks too much.)

"Shit. Shit Sam, it’s late."

He wants to chuckle but it hurts. That doesn’t stop the grin. “Yeah, McNally, it is.”

"God, why are you even talking to me? You should be sleeping."

"You called me," he reminds her, pictures the way he knows her brow is furrowing. Definitely drunk then. A blessing and a curse since half of him wants to hold this against her in the morning and half of him isn’t ready to process it, let alone figure out how to deal. 

"I did. God. I’m sorry."

He doesn’t answer. 

(He wants to though, wants to tell her he loves her too, that this is all stupid, that she should be here telling him all that instead of wherever the hell she is, drunk.)

"You got a cab home?"

"Yeah," she says. "Well, Trace."

Good, he thinks. After Jerry and Gail… well, cabs aren’t things they tend to do. Andy avoids them like the plague. 

(He wonders who drives her now, who picks her up from the Penny or from her apartment.

He thinks maybe it’s Epstein. She has a lot of stories about Epstein when she visits.)

"Go home, McNally," he tells her, aware that his voice is child-like gentle. Like he’s going to spook her. 

"Yeah. Yeah." There’s a beat. "Sam?"

"McNally."

"I mean it," she says. "I love you. I’ll mean it when I’m sober too, even though I don’t say it."

He won’t hold it against her, he reminds himself. He won’t make her say it over and over again, won’t force the confession out of her tomorrow when she stops by. He won’t say it either, even though he can feel the words climbing up his throat. 

(He has to get off the damn phone before he does.)

"Goodnight, McNally."

"Goodnight, Sam."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Morning- Sam and Andy  
> Morning: What my character would say if they woke up in bed next to yours.

She floats up from sleep on the first day of her honeymoon, revelling in the warmth of the sun as it spreads across her skin. It’s been a while since she’s felt this content, this relaxed. No shifts, no rookies, no idiots trying to shoot up a convenience store or kidnap a missing kid. 

Sam’s sacked out beside her, dead to the world, but she knows how to wake him up. She has a great way to wake him up. 

(He’s been the first one up for the past couple of days, residual early shift scheduling from before their wedding. 

Their wedding.)

She starts on his chest, just tiny little kisses, trails up the centre, follows the bone of his sternum. He stirs gently but barely wakes and she holds her breath until he settles again. Then she brings a hand into play, smooths it over his hip until she can tuck her fingers between his skin and the mattress. He stirs again, but instead of stopping she nips at his collarbone. 

His hand threads into her hair, cups her skull so he can bring his mouth to hers. Their kiss is slow, methodical and lazy. They have all the time in the world (well, all the time in a week) and they’ve been using it to just be them. 

"Morning," he murmurs as he kisses her cheek and her jaw, nibbles at her ear. 

"Morning," she sighs, swings her leg over his hip and settles on top of him. His broad hands span her hips as he just looks. His hand slides up her spine, pressing as it climbs so she leans down until he can get his mouth on hers. 

"I love you."

She hums happily, kisses him back in earnest. “I love you, too.”


	9. Moving in together

"There. Last box."

Andy can’t help the thrill that races through her as she plops to the couch -  _their_ couch - eyeing waht Sam’s already dubbed The Leaning Tower of Crap with a triumphant grin. He can tease her, mock every single thing she’s brought with her if he likes, she does not care. 

Because they’re finally,  _finally_  moving in together. 

She’s officially moving in with Sam. 

It’s been a long time coming. She’s been waiting for what feels like ever, even when they weren’t together. Even when she thought they were done. There’s always been a sort of inevitability between them, a humming under her skin that’s made her stronger and better because somewhere, even if it’s in the deep, dark recesses of her brain, that it was always going to end up this way. 

And here they are. 

"God, McNally, how much crap do you have?" 

She glares, though she knows it has no heat. She’s too happy to make that glare mean anything. “It’s not crap.” 

"You have a pair of pajama pants for every day of the year."

"No," she scoffs. "Every week."

His grin flashes as he leans over the back of the couch to kiss her. 

"You haven’t been out of uniform that long," she murmurs against his lips. "You know how uncomfortable those things are."

"Jeans," he says then kisses her again. "Sweats." 

She hums as she kisses him. “Pajamas.”

"What are you? Sixteen?" 

She just grins up at him. “Cradle robber.”

With a growl he hops over the couch, digs his fingers into her sides. It doesn’t last long though, because the next thins she knows they are definitely making out - on  _their_ couch! - and Andy has to dig deep to find her will power. 

"Sam. Sam no."

"Yes," he argues, mouth dancing along her collarbone. "Gotta christen the place, McNally."

She laughs, her hands slipping through his hair despite her initial refusal. It’s not her fault. His mouth is wicked. “Wait. Wait!”

He pulls back, eyebrow in the air. “McNally.”

"We’re going out," she says because she’s had this plan in her head all day. "We’re going out and then we’re going to come back for that. We’re going to come home."

It takes him a minute, but then Sam gets it, his eyes alight. “Our home.”

"Yeah," she whispers, strokes her fingers over his neck. "We’re going to come back to our home. Together."

The way it was always going to be. The way it’s supposed to be. And now the way it is. 

Forever. 


	10. Marriage proposal

It is literally the worst proposal in the history of proposals. 

It’s not his fault, he thinks in hindsight. They’ve never done anything the traditional way and it’s not like either of them should really be surprised. There isn’t a person who has ever come into contact with them that could honestly say it was going to end up any other way. 

Though, okay, it probably could have been a little bit classier, if not a lot more romantic. 

Instead, they’re in the middle of a shoot out in a tiny house-slash-drug lab, bracketing the doorway to the kitchen while Andy reloads. There’s literally nothing romantic about the situation, but as he watches her extremely competent hands snap the new clip into place, the words come spewing out. 

"Marry me." 

Her head comes up, ponytail bouncing as she adjusts her grip. “Seriously? Here? Now?”

He shrugs, pokes his head around the frame, then ducks back immediately as shots ring out. One embeds itself in the flimsy doorway they’re using as cover and he winces. Where the hell is their backup? 

"As good a time as any."

She glares. “It’s really not, Sam. It’s like… the worst timing ever.”

"We could be dying."

And yeah, okay, given their track record with near death situations it is not funny at all and probably the worst response he could have chosen. Dumbass things to say for one thousand, Alex.

She growls at him. “We are being shot at without back up and not only are you joking about life-threatening situations but you just freaking  _proposed_.” 

He shrugs as they listen to fleeing footsteps. “I’m not joking about the marriage part, McNally,” he retorts before a couple of quick hand signals have them following their perps through the narrow hall. 

"Oh. Yeah. Bullets flying and you’re proposing. Sam." 

Then they’re ducking out of the way just as the shouts of their backup echo from the opposite direction. Soon after that they’re leaning against their squad car.

"So," Sam says, unable to resist reaching out to tug on her ponytail. "What do you say, McNally. Want to get married?" 

She releases and exasperated sigh, but breaks some serious professionalism rules to take his mouth. “Of course I want to marry you.” 

Sam grins. 

"It’s still the worst proposal ever."

He can’t find it in himself to care. 

Because she said ‘yes’.


	11. Taking care of the other while sick

Over the last two weeks, one thing has become epically and painfully clear to him: McNally is the worst sick person in the world.

It’s just a cold. He knows this. She’s had the thing that’s going around, chills and stuffy nose and hacking cough. There was a fever for a few days, and thank God she’s over that. Her body was a damn furnace, but no matter how tight she curled herself around him, she couldn’t get warm. And meanwhile, he sweat buckets. He can’t remember how many times he’s washed the sheets at this point. 

But it hasn’t let up. She’s into her second week now - Nash had it, probably picked it up from her kid, probably how McNally picked it up too, the amount of time she spends with said kid - and while the fever’s broken and the chills have let up, she still can’t seem to find her energy. And, well, that’s led to a McNally that is unfortunately both adorable and annoying. 

_Daytime television sucks._

Sam sighs. It’s been like this every time he’s had to leave her at home. She is so bored. _We have Netflix_. 

_Remote’s too far._

It’s probably not because he knows he very deliberately placed it right by her head before he’d left.  _Check the coffee table._

It’s a few minutes before he hears from her again.  _My nose is raw._ And then quickly after:  _Where’s the DayQuil?_

 _Check behind Price’s trashy books_. 

Because that had been the over-eager rookie’s contribution to McNally’s time off. Trashy novels that McNally had then turned around and actually read. Sometimes aloud to him. Sometimes in a way that made him wish she was healthy again. He’s keeping a tally when it comes time for payback. He knows McNally’s looking forward to it. 

 _I want soup, Sam_. 

He kind of wants to bash his head into a wall. But then again, this is McNally and he still has moments where he remembers the time where they didn’t do this. He remembers how cold it felt, so he’ll take this vaguely irritating messages in lieu of that. 

"McNally still sick?" 

Sam leans back in his chair, eyes Shaw balefully. “Nah. Fever broke a couple of days back. She’s bored.” 

Shaw’s eyebrow rises. Sam thinks it may have more to do with the way his phone just vibrated twice in quick succession. “She know you’re on shift.”

"Yup." Sam pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously, flips his phone over. He can’t get her the soup, they both know it. He’s trying not to let it bother him, knowing he’d rather be there with McNally’s ruby red nose and congested snoring. 

Shaw glances around at the buzzing precinct, then back at the phone that’s jumping again. “Take an hour,” he says. “Get her some damn soup. I need her back here, healthy.”

He doesn’t ask and he doesn’t argue. Instead, he grabs his coat and his phone and is out the door before Shaw can change his mind. 

(He stops for soup on the way home, walks through the front door to find her passed out on the couch with some crappy talk show flashing on the screen. He should make the soup, he knows, he’s only got an hour, but instead, he gets his hands under her shoulders and settles in under her head. She snuffles a little, then rolls into him and he grins. 

Sick or not, he’s glad he’s got McNally.)


	12. Cuddling

They’d made plans. Good plans. Cuddling plans. A quiet night catching up on _The Amazing Race_  or  _Survivor_  or whatever other reality show that’s currently Andy’s guilty pleasure. But that’s not how it goes at all.

Instead, it’s been a long day. Too long, really, and every member of the McNally-Swarek clan is exhausted and running on fumes. Danny keeps picking fights with Avery and Katie keeps trying to suffocate Boo Radley. Every time she throws herself at the dog, he yelps and it is doing absolutely nothing to help Sam’s paperwork-induced headache. Andy’s not much better either. According to Epstein she took a closet door to the head when their perp had leapt out of hiding and taken off at a sprint. She’s got the goose egg to prove it. 

But it isn’t until Avery actually takes a swing back at Danny that Sam puts his foot down. 

“Ave, upstairs. Strip. You’re in the main bathroom." 

Avery knows better than to argue with that voice, but she pauses at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her little hips. "I get Momma." 

He catches Andy’s slight nod. It’s not a problem. Katie and Danny are going through a faze where they get on like a house on fire. 

"Big bed in forty minutes,” he calls after his eldest, snagging Andy’s elbow on the way by. “You good with her?" 

"Sounds like she wants Mom-time,” Andy murmurs back, pops up on her toes to kiss him. “I’m good, Swarek. You’re the one taking the babies.”

He is so not worried. 

And sure enough, bath time’s easy as pie, Katie and Danny mainly entertaining each other with a couple of small boats and a Hot Wheels that has seen better days. He can hear the low murmur of Andy’s voice as she brings Avery into the master bedroom and shoots Katie a look when she squawks at him for pulling the plug. 

It takes them twenty minutes, but eventually he’s got his wife snuggled against his side, Avery sprawled over her chest. Danny’s tiny body’s snuggled right against Andy’s on his chest, Katie curled around his shoulder. 

It’s not quite the cuddling he wants, and  _Hoodwinked_  is definitely not the movie he would have chosen, but he’s got his family dog piled all over him. He can’t really argue with that. 


	13. Marriage Proposal

It is literally the worst proposal in the history of proposals. 

It’s not his fault, he thinks in hindsight. They’ve never done anything the traditional way and it’s not like either of them should really be surprised. There isn’t a person who has ever come into contact with them that could honestly say it was going to end up any other way. 

Though, okay, it probably could have been a little bit classier, if not a lot more romantic. 

Instead, they’re in the middle of a shoot out in a tiny house-slash-drug lab, bracketing the doorway to the kitchen while Andy reloads. There’s literally nothing romantic about the situation, but as he watches her extremely competent hands snap the new clip into place, the words come spewing out. 

“Marry me." 

Her head comes up, ponytail bouncing as she adjusts her grip. "Seriously? Here? Now?”

He shrugs, pokes his head around the frame, then ducks back immediately as shots ring out. One embeds itself in the flimsy doorway they’re using as cover and he winces. Where the hell is their backup? 

“As good a time as any.”

She glares. “It’s really not, Sam. It’s like… the worst timing ever.”

“We could be dying.”

And yeah, okay, given their track record with near death situations it is not funny at all and probably the worst response he could have chosen. Dumbass things to say for one thousand, Alex.

She growls at him. “We are being shot at without back up and not only are you joking about life-threatening situations but you just freaking  _proposed_." 

He shrugs as they listen to fleeing footsteps. "I’m not joking about the marriage part, McNally,” he retorts before a couple of quick hand signals have them following their perps through the narrow hall. 

“Oh. Yeah. Bullets flying and you’re proposing. Sam." 

Then they’re ducking out of the way just as the shouts of their backup echo from the opposite direction. Soon after that they’re leaning against their squad car.

"So,” Sam says, unable to resist reaching out to tug on her ponytail. “What do you say, McNally. Want to get married?" 

She releases and exasperated sigh, but breaks some serious professionalism rules to take his mouth. "Of course I want to marry you." 

Sam grins. 

"It’s still the worst proposal ever.”

He can’t find it in himself to care. 

Because she said ‘yes’.


	14. Moving in Together

“There. Last box.”

Andy can’t help the thrill that races through her as she plops to the couch - _their_ couch - eyeing waht Sam’s already dubbed The Leaning Tower of Crap with a triumphant grin. He can tease her, mock every single thing she’s brought with her if he likes, she does not care. 

Because they’re finally,  _finally_  moving in together. 

She’s officially moving in with Sam. 

It’s been a long time coming. She’s been waiting for what feels like ever, even when they weren’t together. Even when she thought they were done. There’s always been a sort of inevitability between them, a humming under her skin that’s made her stronger and better because somewhere, even if it’s in the deep, dark recesses of her brain, that it was always going to end up this way. 

And here they are. 

“God, McNally, how much crap do you have?" 

She glares, though she knows it has no heat. She’s too happy to make that glare mean anything. "It’s not crap." 

"You have a pair of pajama pants for every day of the year.”

“No,” she scoffs. “Every week.”

His grin flashes as he leans over the back of the couch to kiss her. 

“You haven’t been out of uniform that long,” she murmurs against his lips. “You know how uncomfortable those things are.”

“Jeans,” he says then kisses her again. “Sweats." 

She hums as she kisses him. "Pajamas.”

“What are you? Sixteen?" 

She just grins up at him. "Cradle robber.”

With a growl he hops over the couch, digs his fingers into her sides. It doesn’t last long though, because the next thins she knows they are definitely making out - on  _their_ couch! - and Andy has to dig deep to find her will power. 

“Sam. Sam no.”

“Yes,” he argues, mouth dancing along her collarbone. “Gotta christen the place, McNally.”

She laughs, her hands slipping through his hair despite her initial refusal. It’s not her fault. His mouth is wicked. “Wait. Wait!”

He pulls back, eyebrow in the air. “McNally.”

“We’re going out,” she says because she’s had this plan in her head all day. “We’re going out and then we’re going to come back for that. We’re going to come home.”

It takes him a minute, but then Sam gets it, his eyes alight. “Our home.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, strokes her fingers over his neck. “We’re going to come back to our home. Together.”

The way it was always going to be. The way it’s supposed to be. And now the way it is. 

Forever. 


	15. Trying to Get Pregnant

She doesn’t tell Sam when she goes off birth control. 

There’s a part of her brain that acknowledges that as being completely unfair. That kind of thing is a decision they should be making unequivocally and together. 

(There’s been enough decision-making for someone’s “best interests” and sometimes even Andy can admit she has to take things into her own damn hands.) 

Honestly, she figured it would take a minimum of a year. When she’d talked to her doctor the advice had been simple: “3 months to wear off, and remember your job is stressful.” So Andy hadn’t been holding her breath and hoping, just kind of… letting nature take it’s course. 

Then he comes home one night, eyes haunted, emotional like she’s never seen him. It’s one of those nights they christen the house all over again, everything hot and desperate and no where near enough. 

And, sure enough, nature makes the decision for her. 

At first, she’s a basket case of emotion. How the hell is she supposed to take care of an infant? What is she going to do if Sam’s changed his mind - and sometimes he does, when they see the little shits on the street, or a traumatized kid - or they’re terrible parents? She can barely take care of herself like a functional adult, how is she supposed to teach someone else how to do it? 

“McNally.”

She jumps, the blueberries in her bowl scattering all over the floor. “Shit.” 

Sam chuckles as he bends to help her gather them up. “You’re a mess, McNally.”

She knows that’s her opening, her chance to take a breath and tell him they need to talk. There’s something important they need to talk about. 

Naturally, that’s not at all how it comes out. 

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant,” she repeats. 

Then comes the rambling. 

She thinks she explains it all. Their reluctance, but their yearning, the way she could see in his eyes that it was something he really, really wanted and she wanted it too, even though she’s actually insane and neither of them are probably sure how the hell they’re supposed to bring up a kid, but it’s okay because they’re married and they’re solid and they have good jobs and good families, even if his isn’t around that often and -

“Hey.”

It stops her dead, tears in her eyes as she looks up at him. She’s floored by everything she sees there, the fear, the love, the amazement. 

“I’m so mad at you,” he whispers as he presses his palms to her cheeks, holds her face in his hand. “I’m so mad at you. I’m so in love with you.”

He lets one hand drift down to her stomach and she swallows. “I’m sorry.” 

He looks up at her, eyebrow raised. 

“For not telling you, mostly. We should have really made a decision.”

He laughs. “We were never going to make a decision.” 

“Still.” She should have told him. She should have warned him. They should have  _agreed_  because that’s what real adults do, and seriously, have they not suffered enough from stupid miscommunication?

“Still,” he agrees. Then he kisses her, hard and deep, his hand floating down to her stomach. 

“A baby.”

And for the first time since her initial reaction, the elation and fear, a smile blooms so, so big across her face. 

A baby.


	16. Wanna bet?

It doesn’t start as a Fifteen-wide pool. 

Those have been strictly banned. Not that it’s ever stopped them before. And it’s certainly not going to stop them this time. Not when it’s McNally and Swarek in the mix. 

(The best pools always involve McNally and Swarek.)

At first, it’s just him and Chris, a conversation over late night beers that leads to them each taking a side. Dov’s money’s on Swarek crying first at the wedding. Chris swears up and down it’ll be McNally. They have no intention of word going around. But somewhere along they way, they’d both forgotten that there wasn’t much Fifteen liked more than a good betting pool. 

Surprisingly, it’s Nick that approaches Dov first. “Hey. Twenty bucks if you write my name down for Andy.”

Dov wisely chooses not to remark on the way Nick still uses McNally’s first name. He’s not under the illusion that things would be better if they were different, but as someone who knows what it feels like to watch the awesome girl love someone else, Dov can certainly sympathize. 

Gail comes next, slaps the twenty on his desk. “Swarek. Before she hits the end of the aisle.”

“You know,” he says primly, even as he takes the money. “This wasn’t meant to be a precinct thing.”

“Fifteen’s wedding of the century and you think there aren’t a million bets?” Gail shoots back, unrepentant and smug. “I’m pretty sure there’s a pool around whether they’ll actually make it to the wedding or if they’ll bail for the court house.”

(There is. Dov knows because he’s got money on them making it to the ceremony. They’ve been through too much to do something as low-key as elope. Well, that and he has some vivid pictures from Best and Williams’ wedding of the looks Swarek and McNally had been exchanging.)

“McNally,” Chloe says at lunch, half way through an epic hot dog, relish dripping off the end onto the picnic table. “She gets emotional over the kitten commercials.”

Oliver puts his money on Andy, and even Best, having heard through the grapevine, calls to tell Dov to mark him down for McNally, too. Traci hums her disapproval at the number of tallies under McNally’s name and opts for Swarek. Steve Peck agrees. Noelle, however, looks at his list with a frown. 

“A hundred on Shaw,” she tells him. 

“Seriously?”

Noelle gives him that look, the one that’s cowed rookies and senior officers alike. “A hundred, Epstein. Shaw. Write it down.”

On the day of the wedding, even Dov is all but vibrating in curiosity, his fingers half crossed in his lap as he watches Swarek’s face. But there’s nothing there, just the broad grin of a man that has no doubt his bride will be walking down the aisle any minute. And sure enough, just as Traci takes her place at the front, and the first chords of here come the bride ring out, the crowd stands. 

And Dov, just out the corner of his eye, catches Shaw reaching for a Kleenex. 


	17. SPOILERS - Andy in Marlo's hospital room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT

Andy’s there when Marlo gives birth because look, she can be the bigger person, okay? 

She and Marlo have had their problems, there’s no secret of that, but Andy’d also tried to keep things quiet, tried to do everything she could to keep the heat off Marlo when everything went belly up two years ago. And you know what? It’s not even like it’s Marlo’s fault she’s pregnant. 

(It’s no one’s fault. Not really. These things happen. How can she really hold it against Sam when she wasn’t in any better shape to make their relationship work? Plus, she likes to believe she and Sam are over that drama. It’s a clear cut knowledge that, after trying something different, now they know it just won’t work for them.

It helps that she and Sam have talked through this, the utter fear that he’d walk away, the terror that surrounds the fact that she hadn’t thought, in a million years, that she’d become a stepmother before a mother.) 

Marlo’s been out for twenty minutes because birth is  _hard_  (like, she’s reconsidering having her own hard) and Andy’s, well. Sam had needed coffee and a doctor to look at his hand. One look at his face and Andy had offered to stay behind, to keep and eye on Marlo and Gabriela.

It feels like she and Gabi are in their own little world as the infant fusses, as Andy leans down and carefully (and not without fear, this is an  _infant_  and Andy is 90% sure she could break the kid in a second) lifts Sam’s daughter from the little bassinet. 

“Hey. Now now.” 

Gabi’s arm waves, but the little whimpers she’d been making stop. Andy lets out this soundless sigh, shifting to settle the baby more firmly in her grip. 

“Come on. I know I’m not Mom, but let’s let her sleep okay? You took your time getting here and it’s her turn to nap.”

Thankfully, Gabi settles and Andy shifts to the cushioned hospital chair in the corner. It’s not perfect (she’s a little envious of the plush rocking chair Marlo had put in her nursery) but she thinks maybe it’s better than the giant neonatal rooms on TV. 

Thing is, as she sits there, as she looks down at this little helpless infant, Andy finds her heart flipping over. 

“Your mom and I didn’t get out on a very good foot,” Andy finds herself murmuring, that damn habit of just blabbing hitting her full force. Where is Sam and the coffee? “Actually, I hated your mom at first.”

She releases an awkward laugh. Gabi, who has settled into sleep, doesn’t make a sound. “I think it’s your dad’s fault though, you know? I was so in love with him then and he, well. He was pretty mad at me. We, uh. We weren’t always that great at communicating.”

(Gabi doesn’t need to know that they’re still not always great at communicating. They’re better, sure, but the way both she and Sam had reacted at the news of her kidney-bean-sized existence is kind of a great example of the fact that they sometimes forget how to adult.) 

“But you know what, kiddo? Turns out you’re going to be a pretty lucky girl. You dad’s going to spoil the hell out of you - oops, sorry, language - and your mom… You’re mom’s going to teach you how to be strong. How to be solid and fight your way through everything. She’s pretty strong, your mom.”

Andy shifts again, Gabi’s weight more substantial than she’d thought. “But you know what’s even better? You’ve been born into, like, the biggest family ever. ‘Cause you’re not just one cop’s kid, but two, and your mom and dad have a lot of friends. A lot of great friends. Oh God, Gabs, you’re screwed when you’re a teenager.”

She finds herself laughing down at this kid, this infant that is still so many years from the chaos of high school and boys. But she can imagine it, Marlo and Sam greeting the kid with guns, her too, she’d bet, because the kid’s been alive a handful of hours and Andy can already feel her heart expanding. 

She shudders out a breath. “And that’s what it’s going to be like your whole life. A bunch of cops you’ll call aunt and uncle. I bet I can make you call Oliver Grandpa Shaw when you start talking. But Gabi. No matter what happens with your parents, with me, you will always have a family.” She laughs to herself. “A really big dysfunctional, vaguely incestuous family, but you know. That’s okay too.”

The baby shifts, flails and lets out a cry Andy can’t stifle. Marlo’s all but jolting awake a moment later, disoriented and bleary eyed. 

“Sorry,” Andy says immediately, a flush staining her cheeks. “Sam went to get coffee and she started to fuss and, you know, you just did all the hard work so-”

“McNally.”

Andy almost laughs again because God, she knows that tone. A little bit  _shut up_ , a little bit  _I really don’t care_ , and a lot of  _just get the hell on with it_. She stands and heads for the bed, watches Marlo shift against the pillows. The transfer is surprisingly easy and Gabi quiets immediately. 

“She’s beautiful,” Andy says sincerely. Bigger person. Also the truth but. 

Marlo blows out a breath, so obviously overwhelmed. “Hey uh.” 

She gives Marlo the moment. 

“Thanks. For being here.”

Andy offers a small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Andy knows Marlo had expected her to say it’s because of Sam, because this is Sam’s kid too but it’s more than that. It’s so much more than that. Gabi may not be hers completely, but Andy thinks she can make room in her heart for one more person. And that’s more than enough. 


	18. Sam's Jealous - Wedding Day

Sam gets that this is Andy’s day. Traci and Price have made that epically and perfectly clear. But he thinks he’d missed the memo where this being Andy’s day means he only glimpses his new wife. 

He is man enough to admit he misses her. He will get mocked for it until his dying breath if it means he actually gets to dance with Andy. Between the bridal party’s insistence that they follow the ‘no seeing the bride before the ceremony’ tradition and the fact that the only real alone time he’s managed to wrangle with her had been in the back of the limo on the way to pictures and the reception, he figures he’s a bit entitled. Oliver passing Andy off to Collins - again - is the last straw. 

It takes a bit of dodging and weaving, stopping to accept hugs and handshakes from guests, but eventually he sees Andy’s eyes light up as they land on him. 

“May I cut in?”

Andy’s already reaching for him as Nick slips aside. Sam is not small enough to actually admit the thrill that goes through him when he watches his wife’s whole attention zone in on him. 

“There you are,” she murmurs as she fits herself as close as she can get. “I wondered when you’d come rescue me.”

His eyebrow rises. “And you couldn’t come to me?”

She leans her head against his shoulder, humming and snuggling in. “My feet hurt.”

And as is her unwitting habit, Sam finds himself smiling, a slow, warm, sappy thing. He presses a kiss to her head, and strokes his hand down her back. “Oh yeah?”

“It’s the shoes.” She wrinkles her nose. “But they’re really nice shoes, Sam.”

He wants to laugh. She’s drunk, he realizes and almost sighs. He’d wanted more time here, to dance with her snug and tight and yes, okay, in front of everyone, His beautiful bride. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs into her ear instead. “Get you off your feet.”

“On one condition,” she murmurs into his neck.

“Oh?”

“You share the amazing jacuzzi tub in the hotel room with me.”

He lets her lean against him in the elevator on the way up and he sighs happily as she leans back against him in the tub. Sure, he’d been jealous earlier in the evening because everyone had been spending time with his wife except him, but having her here like this, reminds him about the more important thing.

He gets her forever. 


	19. SPOILERS - Andy Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 6x01 ficlet

He doesn’t give her the three days she’d asked for. He doesn’t even give her one. So naturally he’s not surprised she’s not happy to see him. 

“Sam.”

Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. But also that bone-deep unavoidable love. He steps in, gets his hand on the door so she can’t slam it closed. 

“I have a past, McNally,” he begins, low and passionate. “A past that includes other people. Other women.”

“Other kids?” 

“McNally.” He forces himself to blow out a breath, take a moment. “I didn’t want this.”

“But you have it. With someone else.”

He deflates. It’s his turn for that anger, that hurt. Frustration right on the heels of it. 

“Do you know what that feels like?” she asks him, voice breaking. “Because I do.”

“You think that’s how I wanted this to work out?”

“It did. So what are you going to do?”

He steps into the challenge. Into her. “I’m not going to walk away from us.”

He hates that she looks surprised. 

“I promised you.”

“You chose her. For like, a year.”

“You walked away. You chose Collins.”

“What was I supposed to do? Wait?”

God.  _God_. They’re talking in circles, so he reaches out she was her inside presses her against the wall to take her mouth. It’s punishing and angry, but Andy gives as good as she gets. 

“You told me once I was your story.”

The little bark of laughter is watery and God, somewhere along the line he has  _got_  to stop making her cry. He brushes his thumbs under her eyes, brushing at the tear that tracks down her face. 

“Andy, we’ve fought too hard for this. We’ve tried walking away, we’ve tried seeing other people, but we’ve always come back to this. We’ve always come back to us.”

He feels her fingers clench in the bottom of his t-shirt as she sniffles. 

“We’ve never tried to stick it out.”

She sighs, leans into him and he catches her. Of course he does, his touch desperate as he pulls her as close as she’ll come.

“It was supposed to be me,” she whispers. “It’s supposed to be me.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. The mother of his children. His happy ending, his drama free moments. His endgame without complications. “Yeah, sweetheart, it was.”

“God Sam.” And he can feel the tears leaking onto his neck. “God, I’m terrified.”

“Me too,” he admits in her ear, kisses her jaw. “Jesus, McNally, me too.”


	20. 4x01 Fork in the Road

God, there is literally nothing better than hearing her voice. 

It plays over and over in his mind as he speeds through Toronto, as he tracks down the woman he has missed so painfully for months and tries his best not to read into the fact that of all of the numbers Andy had memorized, the only one she thought to dial in the middle of a crisis had been his. 

All he can think about is the tone of her voice, relief and hysterics and  _he hadn’t been there._

Never again.

They clear the place slowly, methodically and Sam finds himself heading for the closest shipping container, lifting the door. It slams back down and despite how absolutely and utterly terrified he is, he feels his lips quirk. 

His rookie. 

His damn rookie. 

“McNally?” He has no idea what keeps his voice so even, so calm. “Are you in there? Open the door.”

It’s lifting in the next moment and she’s there. 

He’s been on dates - he’s not a saint, okay, and well… he’d been worried he’d been wrong, that Andy heading out to a deep cover mission meant she didn’t want to think of Boo Radley - but as he looks at her now, takes her in whole and real and  _so goddamned beautiful_  he knows that there is nothing in the world that will ever compare. 

“Hi.”

Her smiles shakes around the edges but her eyes shine, just as happy as he is, as relieved. “Hi. How was your trip.”

Her eyes dart around a little as she shifts on her feet, unsure, unsteady. “Good.”

And that’s the end of his patience. He reaches for her, gets his hand around the back of her neck and yanks her in. She comes easily, willingly, opens her mouth against his and grips the velcro of his vest. 

They’re both panting harshly when they pull back and his hands are cupping her cheeks, holding her close. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi!” Collins chimes in, utterly destroying the moment. “I’m all for happy reunions, really I am, but maybe we could remember that there’s still an investigation going on here and we’re not out of the woods yet?” 

It takes the majority of his will power to let her go, to step back. He keeps his eyes on hers because despite knowing better he can’t quiet the piece of his mind that says she’ll be gone the minute she is out of his sight. Still, a bubble of hysterics rises up in him, the little involuntary smile that he cannot hide around her. 

“Good to have you back.”

Her smile is luminescent. “Me too.”


	21. College AU - Andy Telling Sam She's a Virgin

“Look, it’s just…” twenty-three-year-old Andy sighs, dropping her head into her hands. “It’s never come up, okay?”

“Never come up? McNally, I’m not your first.”

Boyfriend. He means boyfriend. Because really, the way they’re both less than half dressed says she’d damn well been looking for him to be Her First.

“And? What kind of girl do you think I am?”

Amusement lights just under the abject fear on his face, the nerves in his eyes. “Too good for me, sweetheart.”

She snorts, tosses her head. It’s an old argument now, a year after they’d started dating and eighteen months after they’d started flirting. God, she’d known it would be a bad idea, admitting she’d never had sex. But she and Sam had some weird honesty pact after the whole ordeal with Marlo Cruz last summer and the couple of months she’d considered dating Nick Collins before Sam had gotten his head out of his ass. 

“It’s never been a big deal,” she amends, turning on the end of her bed to curl a long, bare leg beneath her. “It wasn’t something I wanted to do.”

He blows out a breath because he is not stupid, contrary to his reputation. He can read between the lines -  _I didn’t want to do it until you_  - and she knows as honest as the phrase had been, she’d just put more pressure on him. Inadvertent pressure, the kind she really didn’t want to put on him at all, but, well. 

Stupid stigma. 

So she reaches for him, takes his hands and tugs him until he sits next to her. It doesn’t take much to get him to shuffle back so she can straddle his hips. It’s not the first time they’ve been in this position, just the first time they’d been in this position with, well, so little clothing. His hands cup her hips, smooth up her back like he just can’t help himself. She likes that idea more than maybe she should. 

“Hey,” she says, because his eyes are trailing his hands and God, God. As if there had been any doubt that she wanted him for this. He’s looking at her like he’s never held anything more precious in his life. “Hey.”

His eyes come up and lock on hers, his hands moving to hold her wrists where they brace her on his chest. 

“It isn’t something special, Sam,” she tells him. “It’s not… it’s not forever or any more of a commitment than I’ve already asked of you.”

“It is special,” he tells her, though his voice isn’t begging her to believe him. His hand slip up her arms, tug her down until he can kiss her, slow and sweet. 

She huffs when she pulls back. “You already know I trust you. You already know-” she swallows. “You know how I feel.”

He hums. “You love me.”

“Ass.”

He doesn’t have to say the words back. They’re always more precious to her when he says them first. 

“It’s just… It’s what comes next. It’s what I want to come next.”

“Andy-”

“Sam.” She cups his face. “I’m sure. I’m very, very sure.”

The sigh shakes through his whole body. “Not tonight.”

“Sam,” she all but whines. 

“Hey. It may not seem special to you, but-” He swallows. “Look, this means something to me, that you’re letting me. So not tonight, Andy.”

She groans and buries her face in his shoulder. “Fine. Fine. But can we still make out?”

He flips them then, presses her to the mattress. “Hell yeah.”


	22. Sam's a snooze ninja

Okay, look he is not a ninja. He’s not. He’s not even a snooze ninja. He kind of wishes it was for the amusement on her face. 

He’s not a ninja, she’s just a really, really, really deep sleeper. 

He’d figured it out a while ago. It kind of has to be a sort of perfect storm: a long day, a relaxing night, bonus points for relaxing bedroom olympics. But the thing is, when his McNally goes down, she goes  _down._ It’s why waking her is so endlessly entertaining. She takes so damn long to come to the surface again. 

But for the next couple of days he lets her believe he’s a Snooze Ninja. 

She grins at him that first morning, sleepy, but triumphant, then drags him into the shower. It certainly makes him reconsider even biding his time, if that’s what the extra time gets him. 

Except a few days later, they get home early and, well, spend a lot of time reacquainting themselves with sex in a bed. (Sometimes he thinks it’s a weird quirk they’ve developed where neither he, nor McNally really enjoy the in-bed quickies. He likes the bed when he can lay her out and get at every inch of her.) Shower sex is not only off the menu (he will let her think he’s old, rather than try and explain that she’s always sore enough he doesn’t want to push it) and not something Sam really wants to do anyway. 

The best part about post-bed-sex McNally is the cuddling. 

Sure, she loves to cuddle regardless, but she’s particularly snuggly after a thorough night. And he likes it. He always has, likes having her as close as he can get her (and while he doesn’t exactly investigate why too deeply he thinks it may have something to do with knowing she’s close, needing that knowledge, revelling in it after everything they’ve been through.) 

And the thing is, as deep of a sleeper as McNally is, he is, well, not. At all. Too much undercover work and he’s always too on his guard. So he’s already surfacing from sleep when the first alarm starts to ring on her bedside table. 

He’s all but squishing her into the mattress, so thankfully he really doesn’t have to make any drastic movements to get a hand on her phone. He barely blinks at ‘tap to snooze’ before he buries his head back into her shoulder. She smells like McNally and them and he sighs happily, ghosting a hand down her bare side aware it won’t wake her. 

And he passes out. 

The next time he wakes, it’s to McNally shifting beneath him. He’s missed the snooze alarm and he blinks at the long, pale arm as she tries to make sense of what her phone is saying. 

“Oh my God, you did it again!”

Sam hides his grin in her shoulder, but can’t stop his laughter from sliding over her neck. 

“Snooze Ninja,” she says, already wiggling out from beneath him. She does plant a kiss on his lips  (ew, morning breath, but yay, McNally) and he gets the added pleasure of watching her walk away, utterly naked. 

“No following me to the shower!”

He grins as the bathroom door closes and leans back on the pillows, sated, warm and content. Let her believe he’s a ninja, he thinks. He’s managed to get another twenty minutes snuggled against her back. 

And really, that’s all he cares about. 


End file.
